NastyCanasta.com

I am at my cousins' house. The health inspector asks if I live there; earlier, I agreed to say that I have. It was, the health inspector notes, published in the newspaper that I am a permanent resident, so it must be true. The newspaper, he opines, does not lie. I turn away, nodding noncommittally. The health inspector says I'll need to sign a paper verifying my residency... I'm not comfortable with that. I begin to ponder ways of signing without lying.

The health inspector is there determining if the house is a fit place to live. I walk around cleaning up; a helmet on the top of the bookshelf in the living room that must be delicately placed on the collapsing part of the shelf; rubbish surrounding a wastebasket on the floor. The living room is large, full of wooden things. Uncle and cousins talk in the kitchen next door. Does another health inspector arrive?

Earlier, I was looking for the rice krispies treats that the cat has spread around the house. At least, it seems to have been the cat; there is a stash of baked goods in its litterbox. A rice krispie treat, two brownies. I leave them there.

Later, I am walking through a park and pass my high school math teacher. He points out an interesting spiral pattern growing (or perhaps put) on one of the trees. A mushroom, or crepe paper. Beige. Mathematically interesting. A blonde girl we don't know joins the conversation; math teacher doesn't know here either, she must be a freshman. The trees are in the hallway of a high school, possibly mine (though not mine), or a college. A tattooed biker opens the door behind the spiral and walks away. Several other people have joined our group, all looking at the pattern, discussing what it is. Blonde girl opens the door, another tattooed biker is squatting over the toilet in the bathroom inside.

He explains, annoyed; "This is where bikers pee."

It is senior year of college, or high school. I begin to panic about what I'm going to do next, when I graduate, with the rest of my life.